200 words of text and a picture. They go together.

This is what days are like when the air is too hot for sleep and too dry to be tired.

Tidying up is for other people, happy types with ordered lives, traditional values and smart goals; winners in the race against hopelessness.

Life is unfinished. My hair gets brushed once a day if it’s lucky. Finding the brush is the least of my worries. The bedside cabinet drawer is falling apart. I have a tool box.

What happened?

Those sunshine dreams turned into nightmares (in the pouring rain) which dissolved into restless peace. No one takes my breath away without my permission nowadays. Requests to do so are less frequent than before.

Once upon a time the future will be forgotten, the jobs all done, and the boxes ticked and packed in the back of an unmarked vehicle; destination everywhere.

Right now I’m doing a collision course in unexpected reactions to unpredictable behaviour. I could have told them but they only listen to lies. The truth is in the middle.